peanut butter and jealous.

I’m a piler. I like to pile things; it’s how I put things in order. Currently on my desk, I have: two piles of books, three piles of papers (separated based on topic), and a pile of yarn that I’m making something with. It’s not pretty to look at, but I do, in fact, know …

the three c’s of granola.

It was getting out of control. For the past few months, I had been voraciously eating granola, that I’d been buying at the grocery store.  Sacrilege.  But wait, it had a cute name! – it was called, “Love Crunch.”  But more importantly, it contained chocolate.  Oops!  Details. The tipping point was when Longer Legs raised …

a poultice of sorts.

When I was little, I was obsessed with the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and the romanticized life of a settler: learning how to live off the land, to make do with what you had, and to be self-sufficient.  It was a far cry from the concrete-laden cityscape that I traversed in my red-and-white Keds sneakers, …

getting my squirrel on.

A few years ago during a road trip, a mouse got into our trunk and made a home for a few nights.  He slept in the instant oats, nibbled on the stump of a muffin, picked open a bag of corn chips but didn’t eat the chips themselves – and most interestingly, ate a whole …

going for a meander.

Hello. It’s been a while. My hollow legs have been busy.  Somewhat.  Mostly going between the fridge-stove-counter.  But also scrambling up mountains, squatting to look at worms committing suicide on sidewalks, crossing in various patterns while sitting on coffee shop chairs.   The brain sitting somewhere above the hollow legs has been busy too, reading cookbooks, imagining …